Who Wants to Live Forever? (9 page)

“I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make it tonight. There’s far too much to do at home. I shouldn’t have gone with you last week, really. It left me with a lot to put right afterwards.” She went quiet, and gazed into space as if she was lost in her thoughts.

It seemed a rather strange thing to say. What had needed putting right? It seemed that both Emma and Gail had plenty on their minds at the moment.

After the coffee break was over, we returned to the classroom and spent the remainder of the evening having a lively debate about both the murder and the prevailing conditions of the time, and I began to appreciate what Louise had been telling us from the start. Yes, we might be focusing our attention on murders, but as a result of that we were finding out an awful lot about life in different parts of Lancashire.

As we were leaving, with Emma several yards in front of us, I thought I heard Gail give an anguished gasp. Nobody else seemed to have heard it, but I did a quick double take and could have sworn that she was hurling eyeball daggers towards Emma’s back. Emma didn’t appear to notice as she exchanged a few words with an elderly man who was waiting just inside the door. Gail rushed on ahead, catching Trish’s attention. “Hey, isn’t that…?” she began, before trailing off.

“Isn’t that who?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. I thought I recognised that man, but I can’t remember where from. Come on, I’m thirsty.”

***

Debbie, Trish and myself were seated in the lounge bar of the local hostelry within ten minutes of the end of class. As before, I bought the first round of lager and red wines, and we settled down to enjoy the evening.

“Debbie,” I said, “there’s something I want to ask you, but I don’t want you to take offence.”

“Go on, then,” she said, and I detected a little caution in her voice.

“It’s nothing major,” I hastily added. “Just — well, you don’t seem to want to talk about murders all the time, and I can quite understand that. But when we were having that discussion with Louise for the last hour or so, we were talking about anything but the murders for a lot of the session. I found out about life in Rochdale in the 1930s, about life on the barges, the sort of things that the canals were used for and how they had to adapt or die. But I also learnt about a much gentler pace of life, which would have been very interesting considering it was only half a dozen years before the Second World War started. So don’t you feel that the choice of subject matter has actually introduced us to far more than we could have expected from this course?”

Debbie looked thoughtful for a moment, before replying. “I understand what you’re saying,” she said, “and I agree as well. But that’s not the problem. It’s…I’m a little embarrassed to say this really, especially given my age…it’s just that I find the whole topic a bit gruesome. I’m quite squeamish really, and when we have these thorough discussions, and when Louise goes into such graphic detail about the deaths, I feel a bit sick. I’ve also had a few nightmares since the course started, and I
almost
decided not to come in tonight.”

I was stunned. Never for a second would I have classified Debbie as a sensitive sort, and I hated myself for raising the subject and causing her such obvious distress. She must have noticed my reaction, for she said, “It isn’t your fault, Ethan. Nor yours,” she added, seeing Trish was about to speak. “And I know that Louise is determined to continue along these lines.” She smiled, and it didn’t look forced at all. “I promise I’ll keep coming, right up until the grisly end. Are you satisfied now?”

I still didn’t really know what to say, but fortunately Trish came to my rescue. “We’ve no Gail tonight, and I think we can all guess as to why. I can’t understand her personally; she doesn’t know any of us, so why not just come clean about things? Nobody is going to judge her. She’s even paying more for the course than she needs to through her foolish pride, as pensioners are entitled to discounted rates.”

“I agree, it’s a shame,” I said. “If she’d only open up to us, she’d find she had some good friends here. The same applies to Emma as well,” I added. “I’m a little worried about her. When I was talking with her at break, I could tell that something was wrong, and for a moment I felt that she was going to tell me what it was.”

“You did your best. You tried to get her to come tonight, didn’t you?” said Debbie. “Perhaps if we keep trying they’ll both join us next week?”

“So,” said Trish, “changing the subject. Aren’t we supposed to be telling our potted histories tonight? Who shall we hear from first?”

“Okay, Trish,” I said, “as you brought it up, why don’t you begin?”

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” she said, ruefully.

“Yes, you did,” said Debbie, “but I wanted to hear about you anyway. Especially after your comment earlier tonight.”

“What comment? I don’t remember saying anything.”

“Oh, come on, now. When we heard about Harold Scott’s philandering ways and you said something like, ‘There’s still hope for me, then.’”

Trish blushed. “Oh, that,” she said.

“Yes,
that
,” repeated Debbie.

“There really isn’t that much to tell. Not anything of interest anyway. Derek and I had been dating since junior school — not real dating, as we were only ten or eleven, but we’d been a couple. We stayed together throughout senior school, and everybody knew we were going to get married. We were the perfect couple, held up as an example to all others. I was eighteen when we married, he was a year older, although we were both from the same school year. And, two weeks after the wedding, he left me for my best friend, my chief bridesmaid. It turned out that they’d been carrying on together for the last six months, and I knew nothing about it. My
friends
knew, of course, but not one of them saw fit to tell me and save me from the most miserable few months of my life.

“It would have been much easier if we hadn’t gone ahead with the wedding. That would have given me a chance to move on, but I had to sort out all the paperwork and legal issues, and it just seemed to drag on and on and on. It took me two years before I felt up to even going out of the house, and another year before I started to reintegrate myself into the social scene. I moved up here when I was twenty-five — I’m from the West Midlands originally — and I’ve lived in Lytham ever since.”

“You’ve lost all trace of any accent,” I said. “I worked with somebody from Penkridge once, and he was very hard to understand.”

“It’s all in the breeding, dear.” She smiled. “To be truthful, I didn’t have an accent even when I lived there, and I’ve taken care not to cultivate a Lancashire accent since I’ve been
oop north
.”

“We don’t talk like that! Do we?” I added, wondering if that was how we were viewed by non-Lancastrians.

“No, you don’t. I know they do in some parts of Lancashire, but the Fylde is such a cosmopolitan area, with people settling here from all parts of the country, that it doesn’t seem to have gained an accent of its own.”

“And have you had many relationships in the thirty years since you came up here?” asked Debbie.

“It’s
twenty-nine
years, I’ll have you know. And remember, I’m younger than you.”

“Yes, but you don’t look it,” was the retort.

“Ladies, ladies,” I said, knowing it was all being said humorously, but also knowing that the mood could quickly take a downturn if either one of them took offence.

“It’s okay, Ethan,” said Trish, “we’re only joking. And to answer the question, yes, I have had my fair share of relationships. I’m a feisty redhead, after all, and, once I was finally over Derek, I began to live and love again. I met Eddie and we lived together for many years, and I was almost as happy as I’d expected to be when I married Derek.”

“So are you still living together?” I asked.

“Why? When you heard I wasn’t married did you think you had a chance? I know you fancy me.”

“Get a room, you two,” said Debbie.

“I’m only joshing,” said Trish. “Honest.” And she looked at me, and I felt that there was a little more than that to it. Besides, she had been right; I
had
considered the possibilities of a relationship when I found out she was divorced.

“You didn’t answer Ethan’s question. Are you and Eddie still a couple?”

“No, we’re not. We split up a little over a year ago, so I’m on my own now. But it was a civilised separation, with no animosity, and we still keep in touch as friends. But that’s all. There’s been nobody else since, and — if I’m being honest — I haven’t socialised much in the last few months, as work has taken up such a lot of my time. This course was a chance to do something for myself, and you two are the first people I’ve had fun with in quite a while.”

“Aww, stop it. You’ll make me cry,” said Debbie, ostentatiously wiping a pretend tear from her eye.

“Come on, let’s have another drink,” said Trish. “Then it’s your turn,” she added, looking at the two of us.

“I’ll be gallant, then,” I said, looking at Debbie, “so it must be
ladies first
.”

“Swine!” she muttered. “Okay, then, but, in that case, the gentleman
always
buys the ladies drinks.”

“I suppose I asked for that one,” I said, rising to go to the bar. When I returned, Debbie still had a satisfied smirk on her face, but I took it as a mark of our growing friendship that we could be so relaxed with each other after such a short time together.

“Well, to begin with, I’m a widow,” she began.

“Oh, sorry, I remember you telling us you’d left your husband when you introduced yourself, but I never realised that he was dead,” I said. “It’s so clumsy of me. We can talk about something else instead if you like?”

“Don’t be silly! I might be a widow but I’m a very merry widow. In fact, I don’t think anybody can be as happily widowed as I am.”

“That’s rather a strange thing to say,” said Trish. “However bad somebody is, people usually say nice things about them after they’re dead.”

“What, you mean like Hitler, Saddam Hussein and Gaddafi? No, I’m not suggesting Tony was anything like them, but he made my life miserable. He was a brute of a man. We had separated long before he died, but I still remember how happy I felt when I heard he’d gone. It was as if I’d suddenly been released from a living hell.”

“Did this happen recently?” I asked, curious as to the obvious hatred that spilled out with every venomous word Debbie uttered.

“No, it was quite a while ago. In fact, it was last century — doesn’t it sound strange when we say that? Well, it does to me — but I still remember what he did to me, as if it had only happened yesterday.”

“What did he do…?” began Trish, before stopping herself, muttering, “Fool,” under her breath.

“It’s quite all right, Trish, I don’t mind telling you. It was a forced marriage, one that my parents arranged. He was in the lumber trade, and was very strong. If I did the slightest thing wrong, he would punish me. He used to burn me with cigarettes until I passed out in agony. I tried to leave him on more than one occasion, but he always caught me and brought me back. And then the beatings would begin again, far worse than any I’d had before. I suppose that’s partly why I find the topic of murders — especially gruesome ones — so unpleasant. It brings back those suppressed memories, and they become as real now as they were all those years ago. Living with him was like being a prisoner of all that is evil. Is it any wonder I’m the way I am?” she muttered, so quietly that I think that only I heard her.

“Finally, I did manage to escape him, and this time he never found me. I kept moving around from place to place and I never saw him again. Even after I learnt that he’d died, I still regularly changed locations; habit, I suppose. I’ve only been in Ansdell for a short while, but I do like it here, and I’m thinking it’s time to settle down permanently. Time. Isn’t it a funny word? Over time, the physical marks have disappeared, but the memory is still there; what he did to me was far more than skin deep.”

“I can see why you’ve remained single, then,” I added, quietly.

“I would
never
remarry. Not after that. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like men,” she added, looking deep into my eyes. As had happened once before, I felt myself drowning under her deep blue gaze.

“Get a room!” said Trish, with a half-smile on her face.

Debbie laughed. “Touché! Sorry, but you deserved that for putting me on the spot. I’ll admit, though, I do enjoy the occasional dalliance, but never for more than a few months, and I’m always happy to move on. I suppose that is the sad part of it all; that bastard has ruined any chance I had of ever having a normal relationship. Things might have been different if …” She trailed off, deep in thought, and for a moment there was an awkward silence, broken only when Trish decided to buy the next round of drinks.

Now it was my turn. “Okay, okay,” I said, holding my hands up in mock surrender as the two women fixed their gazes on me. “I’ll tell you about myself, but, I warn you, my story is very boring.”

“Let us be the judge of that,” said Trish. “Besides, it’s only fair. We opened up and told you about ourselves. The least you can do is give us your background.”

“Right, then. And no moaning — remember, you asked for it. I told you a small part of this when we had to introduce ourselves during the first week. I left school after taking my O-Levels — I did okay, scraping through half a dozen of them. I failed History, though, so my being on this course would shock my old form teacher. Like I said, I did all right, but not good enough to go on and sit A-Levels or think of university. So I took a job in an insurance office and remained in the insurance business for the next forty years, until I retired a couple of years ago. I worked for the CIS, then Guardian Royal Exchange before it became part of AXA and Aegon, always based in or around this location. There isn’t much more to tell you about it. I find it boring even to think of, let alone talk about.”

“That isn’t what we want to hear about,” said Trish, “and you know it.”

“Though it’s still useful background,” added Debbie.

“I know what you want me to talk about, and, I agree, it’s only fair. You kept nothing back. I went to an all-boys school, and I think it’s because of that restrictive background that I found it difficult when I was in the company of girls. My dating history was almost non-existent until I was in my early twenties. I had plenty of first dates, but very few second ones. I was always tongue-tied when I was with a girl as I just wasn’t used to being in their company. I’m also an only child, so I didn’t even have the chance to flirt with my sister’s friends — some of the other lads at school told me that’s how they, ‘developed’, shall we say.